


Assistance.

by MLMDarkFiction



Category: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)
Genre: Assisted Suicide, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, References to Depression, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 02:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20538809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MLMDarkFiction/pseuds/MLMDarkFiction
Summary: It's unfair of you to ask something like this of Leslie, but you can't help yourself. The thoughts just won't go away. And besides, he wants to be a killer, one of the greats. And even Michael Myers started off by killing someone close to him.(VENT FIC)TW: Mentions of Depression, References to Suicide, Reader asks to be Killed, not a happy ending but not a bad ending either.





	Assistance.

You aren’t sure where exactly Leslie is right now. He’s with the documentary crew, that is something you know, but whether he’s out stalking his red herring final girl, or at the orchard giving a tour through the farmhouse you’re not sure. Maybe you’re wrong entirely, and he’s with Eugene and Jamie. 

Maybe you’re jealous. 

Maybe that’s why you’ve been feeling so bad lately. 

You ponder it while feeding the turtles, because Leslie never remembers to feed the turtles. Without you they’d have starved already...you’re pretty sure the turtles he had before you came into his life did starve.

No. You’re not jealous. You have no reason to be jealous of Taylor.

Because at the end of the day, after the documentary, after everything, Leslie is going to kill her. Why would you be jealous of that?

Your thoughts quickly turn bitter, and your turn away from the turtles. Now that they’ve been fed it’s time for your lunch as well. 

It’s not like you’ve done nothing but listen to Leslie talk about the importance of a Final Girl, about how important they are to a killer, the intimacy of the relationship. 

But…

Realistically you know that’s not the real issue you have. You know you’re not angry at him because of that. 

Blaming Leslie, or jealousy for your problems would be too easy. 

You are, to put it in the lightest, simplest of terms, depressed. And at the end of the day it’s at least partially you’re fault. It doesn’t help you’ve tried your best to avoid telling your boyfriend about the fact you’ve been feeling especially bad.

Leslie would do anything for you. He’s loyal to a fault. You know if he were to find out just how badly you were feeling he’d put everything on hold until you were okay again. 

You don’t want that. 

It’s complicated. 

On one hand you want to feel miserable, you feel like you deserve it. And maybe, just maybe, if you feel bad enough you’ll finally get the courage to-

**Fuck.**

The knife you’d been using to cut up vegetables for your lunch slipped and nicked your finger. It’s not a horrible cut, but it’s enough that you stop on your way to go and retrieve a bandaid from Leslie’s first aid kit. 

On the other hand, aside from feeling like you deserve the pain, you also don’t want Leslie to put his plans aside for you. He’s worked so hard to get everything into place. His first spree, his documentary. Leslie worked so goddamn hard, and you are so proud of him. There’s no way you’re going to ruin that for him.

Because deep down you know he’d let you. 

“Hey babe you home?” 

It seems like Leslie’s home early.

  
And deep down you aren’t sure if that’s relieving or not. It’s hard to be miserable with him nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by normally. You don’t think about how sad you are, or about bad things. The day is spent with Leslie (who accidentally fed the turtles a second time), playing games, watching movies, and just being a couple. 

It’s when the two of you are working on dinner that you start to feel significantly bad again. Leslie’s working on the meat, and once again you’re stuck on veggie duty. 

You don’t realize you’ve stopped cutting, eyes fixated on the  _ sharp  _ kitchen knife in your grasp. The thoughts come before you’re even aware of them, wondering how easy it would but to just take it to the skin of your wrist instead of the vegetables. Surely you could cut through it easier than a cucumber? It’s mainly skin after all. 

“Didn’t you hear me babe?” 

Leslie’s behind you, you dark thoughts momentarily ignored as you’re grabbed from behind, your larger partner resting his chin atop your head.

  
“I said I was ready to add the vegetables into the stir fry...but it doesn’t even look like you finished chopping them.”

  
He squeezes you lightly in the hold. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You lie to Leslie. You tell him that you’re fine, just a little tired. 

It’s hard to tell if he believes you, especially when he just presses a kiss to your forehead and tells you to relax while he finishes up dinner. 

Although you do as he asks, listening from the couch as Leslie hums to himself in the kitchen, relaxation doesn’t come. This time the bad feelings don’t go away. 

They last all the way into the night, even as Leslie cuddles with you telling you about his day and his plans. It does make you a little bad, knowing the fate of the documentary crew, after all you’ve actually  _ met  _ them.

  
It’s weird to think that not only are they going to die, but at the hands of your boyfriend, the man currently spooning you while watching a documentary on the famous Camp Crystal Lake. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. 

“That’s gunna be me one day,” Leslie says, right as someone on the documentary is talking about Jason Voorhees, and his mother Pamela.

You can’t help but smile. As weird as it is, and as scary as it should be you’re proud of your boyfriend. He works hard. 

It does make you think though...could Leslie kill you?

You know he could. 

But would he?

No. You already know he wouldn’t. Hurting you is the last thing Leslie would do, after all, you’re not final ‘girl’ material, and even if you were...You’re his boyfriend. He’s not going to kill you. 

He has no desire to hurt you. 

“Leslie?” 

  
“Yeah babe?”

You can hear the excitement in his voice still, the happiness from thinking about his own possible future. 

  
“Have you ever thought about killing me?”

You can tell right away he’s misunderstood your questioning, the reasoning behind it. He tightens his grip, he pulls you closer, and although your back is too him you can imagine the deep set frown on his face.    
  
“I would never!” The conviction is clear. “I love you.”

He thinks you’re scared. He thinks you want to leave him. 

You don’t. 

Well you do. 

Just not the way he thinks. 

  
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me - I’d rather- I’d-”

  
It hurts. 

There’s no way you can let him finish whatever it is he’s going to say. His devotion is, at the end of the day, the one thing you don’t and have never deserved. 

Turning to face him you silence him with a kiss. 

Leslie hadn’t realized you were crying, not until your damp face pressed against his own. He kisses you back with everything he has. He’s still trying to prove to you that he loves you, that he wouldn’t hurt you, not ever.

“Leslie?”

  
“Y-Yeah?”

Not being able to comfort you, not knowing what’s wrong with you, seeing you cry. It’s almost too much for Leslie. He flinches at the sound of his own voice breaking, and that obviously display of weakness. 

  
He’s got to be strong for you right now. 

“Leslie, I  _ want  _ you to kill me.”

  
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Your eyes focus on the bed sheets, not on his face, you can’t bring yourself to face him, because you’re a coward. You know if you look at him you’ll see just how much you’ve hurt him. 

  
And when he doesn’t respond, because he’s too  _ shocked  _ to say anything at all, you keep talking.

“I mean...Look at Michael Myers...He killed someone close to him first. He killed his sister.”

Because somehow it’s better to justify it that way, to say that you want him to be successful in his work, and that it’s not the obvious. The obvious that you know he’s already picked up on. 

You’re off your meds. You’re suicidal. You want to die and you can’t do it yourself, so you’re trying to trick him, the one person who would do anything for you, into doing it.

“Just imagine how good it’d look for the docu-”

It’s his turn to interrupt.    
  
“Stop.” 

His voice is firm, but you don’t miss the crack again. It sounds like he’s crying, but you don’t dare look. 

Leslie’s not angry. He doesn’t know how he feels. Sad? Worried? Scared? Something more, something encompassing it all, but he’s not angry. 

You’re hurting, and he can’t be angry at you for hurting. 

“Is that...Is that really what you want?” 

He’s studying you, face taught and unreadable, an occasional stray tear falling. He won’t do it. He can’t. 

But he can scare you. He’s trained to hurt people, to kill them, he’s perfected his craft. Leslie knows just how much pressure to apply to your throat to cut off your airway, and when to let go in time before you pass out.

It won’t get that far of course. 

Once he sees you’re scared he’ll let you go. He just wants to scare you. To show you that the thought of death is far more scary than being alive. 

When you nod, finally looking up at him with your big sad eyes confirming that you want this he cups your face, just briefly touching his lips to yours. 

The kiss is chaste. Playful almost. 

His hands trail slowly from your jaw to your neck, where they find quick purchase. 

Instinctively you hold your breath and shut your eyes. 

You’re so limp and beautiful, laying with your eyes shut while Leslie has his hands wrapped around your throat. It makes him angry in a way.

You’re not supposed to look peaceful. This isn’t supposed to make him feel like he’s doing the  _ right thing.  _

He waits. With his hands slowly tightening around your throat for a reaction, something, anything that lets him on to the idea that you still have the fight of life inside you. But you don’t react. 

It’s heartbreaking. 

By the time his hands leave your throat he’s openly sobbing. You’re held to his chest tightly, and even if you wanted to, you know you’re not escaping the hug any time soon. 

Eventually you fall asleep like that, held tightly to Leslie’s chest while he cries. And Leslie, he doesn’t sleep that night at all. He’s too afraid to sleep. 

He’s too afraid that he’ll close his eyes and the next time he opens them you won’t be there anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have a request? mlmdarkfiction.tumblr.com/ask


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